


HetaBride

by PoorSapAdvocate



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chases, Escapes, Fencing, Fighting, Giants, M/M, Miracles, Monsters, Torture, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-20 17:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorSapAdvocate/pseuds/PoorSapAdvocate
Summary: Colonial American is sick, so England decides to read him a story from his youth, full of fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles, and characters that bear a remarking resemblance to our Nations. A Hetalia/Princess Bride fusion. {A repost}





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Repost Notes (1 Feb 2019): This is a repost of one of the first projects I ever posted. I have been writing for literally as long as I can remember, but I never really got around to finishing anything. I've also had some bad experiences posting online in the past when I was real young (nothing dangerous, just completely embarrassing), so I've always flinched away from posting anything. This was something I forced myself to finish, and forced myself to show to the rest of the world, and I think that's made me a better writer. There are a lot of things I would change about this now, but for what it's worth, I'm proud of it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia and its related media was created by Hidekaz Himura. The Princess Bride was created by William Goldman…or S. Morgenstern if you really like roleplaying. Any other works mentioned or homaged are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

_June 1, 1677._   
_Kirkland Estate; England_

Damn, damn, damn, damn!

Such were the thoughts of one Arthur Kirkland, known to his superiors and colleagues as the anthropomorphic personification of The British Empire. The Nation was currently huddled over his desk, trying to keep his mind on papers that he knew were important. They slipped through his mind without any trace of information being left behind. There were more important matters to consider.

America had a cold. Not any of the deadly diseases that killed so many colonists before. Not even a serious illness. A common cold.

Such a sickness was usually unheard of for a Nation. Usually, illness meant times of recession or political unrest, never because they spent too much time outside. Even the king himself had seemed troubled by this, and asked England to oversee the matter personally. And of course, England was going to; America was his brother and therefore his responsibility. But, never being sick himself in such a way, England had no idea what he was supposed to do.

He sighed as he finally removed the papers in front of him, opting instead to bury his head in his hands. It was useless to do any work in this mindset. If anything, he could at least check back on America and see if he was awake now.

Just as he stood, something fell off his shelf.

It was a rather old book, upon inspection. The pages were yellowed, the binding was loose, and the ink nearly faded. A quick glance at the cover page told England why. It had been--what, 100 years?--since he had last picked this up.

One of the first printings of _The Princess Bride_ by S. Morgenstern.

He had known the Nation of Florin. Hell, if their political ties had been closer, she probably would have been to him what he was to America now. Her economy had been only hundreds of artists and storytellers and exporting coffee, so it wasn’t any surprise that one day last century she had just…disappeared.

 

* * *

 

“So what’s it about?” America asked him as England pulled up a chair.

“Oh, all sorts of things.” Truth be told, England scarcely remembered himself (not reading a book in over 100 years would do that to you). “Fencing, fighting, torture, giants, true love…miracles…”

The young colony’s eyes lit up as England rattled on. “Sounds really cool! I’ll make sure not to fall asleep!”

England gave a strong nod back as he found his place. “The Princess Bride. By S. Morgenstern. ‘Chapter One…

 

* * *

 

**HetaBride**   
**An Axis Powers Hetalia/Princess Bride fusion fanfiction**   
**By the Poor Sap Advocate**


	2. Chapter 1: The Bride

Feliciano was born in the small kingdom of Florin. He was raised by his grandfather, and after his death, by his aunt and uncle on their dairy farm. His hobbies were cooking, paining, and running away from the farm boy.

The farm boy had a name, but to Feliciano, who was usually too scared of him to ask, he was always the Farm Boy. Actually, he was less of a boy and more of a young man, but he had been working on the farm from a young age, since he had lost his parents as well. His only possession left was a hat left to him by his father, a hat Feliciano rarely saw since it was too big for his head. Feliciano rarely approached him, since his face seemed to be in a fixed glare, but whenever he did, the Farm Boy would answer in the same way:

“As you wish.”

“I’ll give him an acre in my will.” Uncle Roderich would often joke. He was a musician by trade, so the success of the farm often depended on the Farm Boy as much as it did that there weren’t any other dairy farms in the village.

“You’d spoil him.” Aunt Elizaveta would reply, and, unless he wasn’t in the room, would turn to Feliciano and add “Make sure to take a bath, Feli. You’ll never attract village boys smelling like stable.”

It had been around Feliciano’s tenth birthday that he realized when he realized that village girls were avoiding him like the plague (this was after plagues, but most things are), and the village boys had started in a constant race for his attention. Feliciano wouldn’t realize why until his sixteenth birthday, so for now he endured the attention and let the Farm Boy take care of them if they got too persistent.

* * *

 

When Feliciano was eleven, he began to take more note about the Farm Boy. He would call upon him for more tasks that didn’t need to be done, or delay him by asking for things he could easily do himself. Without any hint of emotion on his face, the Farm Boy would always respond the same way: “As you wish.”

After several sleepless nights, Feliciano realized why.

He was desperately in love with the hard-faced farm boy.

So late one night, Feliciano made his way to the small hovel the Farm Boy stayed in, just as he was about to retire. “I love you.” He started. This stopped the Farm Boy dead in his tracks in the doorway. “I know this probably comes as a shock to you, considering I’ve always either ordered you around or ran away from you, but it’s true. I’ve only realized I loved you for…oh, a day now, but I know it’s the most passionate, most pure love one person could feel for another.  I want to be the one who wakes up next to you. I want to…I want to be the one that works hard for you, who comes back home to see you, and if I should grow old, I want nothing more than to grow old with you.”

This was way before Scottish band the Proclaimers would write their hit “I’m Gonna Be (500 miles)”. Experts on Florinese history and pop song analysts eventually declared it a coincidence.

Feliciano continued. “But please, let me know if there is anything, _anything_ , I can do to win your love in return.”

For the first time in his life, Feliciano glanced up to meet the icy pair of eyes dead on.

The door closed in his face.

It was dark when Feliciano made his way back to the house. He had stumbled through the farm, as the sky grew dark and the tears blinded his vision.  He managed to collapse onto his bed before he let the tears fall freely.

He could have said _something_. Something like “sorry” or “I’m taken…” even a “no” would have been better than the dorm slamming into his face. Feliciano tried to comfort himself. He tried to reason that this was what love was like: you fall passionately in love, you fall out of it. His heart, however, wasn’t too sure.

When Feliciano woke up the next morning, he was rather surprised to see the Farm Boy at the door, with whatever possessions he had packed in a small bag and his hat shadowing his face. “I’ve come to say goodbye.” Was all he said.

Perhaps it was because his heart was too sore, or because he was still partially asleep, but tried as he did, Feliciano couldn’t muster words. For just a fraction of a second, he could see the glare in the Farm Boys eyes deepen, and Feliciano found himself being pulled into a kiss.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been 5 kisses rated the most passionate; the most pure. This one didn't get on the list. They were young and inexperienced, and the kiss was sloppy and unpracticed. But it garnered an honorary mention on the list for pure emotion alone.

“If you love me as much as you say,” said the Farm Boy as he broke the kiss. “I need to find a better way to support you. There’s no way a future wife of mine would have to work herself trying to support me.”

Believe it or not, this was after feminism, but that wasn’t the point he wanted to make.

As the Farm Boy turned, Feliciano found his voice again. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

The Farm Boy froze again. When he turned back, it was with a pinky extended. “Hear this now: I will always come for you. Not even death can stop true love.”

Feliciano wrapped his finger around the other, before being pulled into another kiss. This kiss was a little bit better.

* * *

 

So the weeks began to pass. Still, Feliciano waited for his Farm Boy to return. He began to paint and cook less, for now most of his time was devoted to two things. The first thing every morning, he scrambled to get his farm chores done, since now without the farm boy, the farm was struggling. Once that was done, he took Aunt Elizaveta’s advice on how to stay beautiful. His hair was still short, and there was still always a stray curl, but it was better washed now. His clothes were better kept, and he smelled less of stables and more of the tomatoes and spices of the pasta he made. Whenever he went out to the village to deliver milk, he made sure everybody knew what this sudden change was for. If anyone were to ask how his Farm Boy was doing, Feliciano would tell them, and it would usually be hours before they were released.

His love for the Farm Boy would not stop growing, and in record time, he reached the very top of the list.

Which is why the Farm Boy’s death hit him the way it did. He never reached his destination. His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Germania.

When Feliciano heard the word, he locked himself into his room. At first he cried, he argued, but everybody knew that the Dread Pirate Germania never takes prisoners. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t sleep, and he wouldn’t leave his room. Soon, though, he emerged, if only to eat. The only other thing he could do was stare at the fireplace blankly.

It continued this way for nearly 4 years, until finally Feliciano emerged from his room. He was a bit older, a bit wiser, and now, with the loss of his only love, was he truly the Most Beautiful Women in the World.

There was just one small problem with that, and that was that Feliciano was not, in any way, shape or form, a women.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 2: The Prince

On paper, the kingdom of Florin was ruled by the King Bonnefey. Unfortunately, this was only true on paper. The King was approaching his final days. Nearly all of his organs has betrayed him, and he had been confined to his bed.

So, in practice, it was run by the Queen and the Prince Francis.

If Europe had existed at this point (and it hadn’t), Prince Francis would probably be the most powerful man in it. As it was then, there were few men daring enough to double-cross him. He was one of the best hunters in Florin (and he would still rank on the list some time after his death), an expert wrestler and swordsmen, and more than knowledgeable on how to bend the law in his favor.

To all outside appearances, though, he was simply the airheaded son of the king who drank too much wine and flirted with too many girls (and many men, though most of them would refuse him). And granted, part of that was true, but Francis enjoyed playing it up in his few public appearances. After all, he had no intention of getting married, so why not have a little fun while he was at it?

He kept this belief until one day, after a long morning of hunting, he was stopped b the Count.  “There is news. Your father has had his physical.”

“And?” Francis asked.

“He is dying.”

“Ah.”

The Count watched silently as the Prince sighed and collapsed on a nearby chair. He didn’t have any experience in the matter personally, but he thought that when your father was dying, you would react more than a dejected sigh. “Highness?” He asked.

“I supposed this mean I’ll have to be crowned.”

The Count nodded.

“And married.”

Now he saw what the trouble was, and joined his friend in fretting.

Even putting aside Francis’ preferences, the King of Florin couldn’t marry just anyone off the streets. It would need to be a princess. And not just any princess. Marriages of these types were political, so it would need to be the princess of a country that Florin never had the best political ties to.

‘Count’ may have just been a made-up political title the Prince made up as a birthday present, but the Count certainly knew how to use it.

“I believe the Princess of Guilder is of marrying age.”

Francis pouted. “Barely. She’s small and frail, and no use in a hunt.”

The Count nodded in understanding. “I’ll send out the letter immediately.”

And so the hunt for Princess Lili Zwingli of Guilder began.

 

* * *

 

England paused as he got to the next page. Where the next page of the story should be was a red note card, another person’s handwriting on it. Quickly, as to not disturb the very enthralled America, he scanned it over.

_I got rid of this chapter. I think you'll thank me in the long run. I love me some Morgenstern, but I still don't understand why he would interrupt this great narrative just for some political satire that won't be relevant in 20 years._

_-Florin_

“What’s wrong?” England nearly jumped at America’s voice.

“Lost my place.” The Nation stammered. Well, he couldn’t just tell his little brother that he had no idea what he was supposed to read, right? England would just have to take the old Nation’s word for it. Besides, he certainly wasn’t a scholar of the Florin monarchy and he was fairly certain that America hadn’t even heard of the old country. “Alright, here we are.

 

* * *

 

Francis’ predictions on Lili had been right. She was very young, just passing Guilder’s marrying age, and more of a knitter than a doer. She wasn’t a terrible girl, though. Granted, Francis wouldn’t even think of marrying her if they were in a different situation, but she was pleasant enough company for now.

No, Francis was far more worried over the Prince of Guilder, Vash Zwingli. By all outside appearances, he and the Prince should be getting along famously. They were around the same age, they had the same interests, and they were among the best hunters in their respected country. However, Vash wasn’t taking the news of his sister having to marry well, and it seemed Francis was the target of that anger.

But Prince Francis of Florin was not an idiot. He could handle political situations, regardless of what he made others to think. By 8:23 that night, there was every chance of a lasting alliance between Guilder and Florin.

By 8:24, the nations were nearly at war.

Francis didn’t know what happened, really. He was talking to Lili, cheek to cheek when the brandied pig went flying, and he only had enough time to notice Lili’s braids were lying on the floor before he was pinned to the wall by Vash.

“That could have gone better.” The Count said once he and Prince had been safely evacuated to an emergency meeting.

Francis growled as he tied the bandage onto his arm. Vash may have only been armed with a dinner knife, but, boy, he knew how to use it. “Never mind Guilder, I’ll just have to conquer it when I’m king. Just…find me another bride. I don’t care who she is or where she came from…I don’t even care if she hunts! Just make sure she is the most beautiful thing that’s ever walked the planet! I don’t want to settle down with someone who’s only point of separation from her brother is a hair ribbon.”

Scholars of Guilder would often point out that Princess Lili quite liked the new hairstyle, and would even keep it until her death. But that is another story for another time.

“If it’s just looks you’re looking for…” The Count said. “Then I think she’s already found.”

 

* * *

 

Feliciano rode out every morning to the village. His first job was to deliver milk, but he always tried to find room for painting, since painting was the only thing that managed to bring him joy. It was the rare morning when he finished his rounds early and he settled down when the two riders approached him.

Though at first Feliciano didn’t recognize them, he could tell they were certainly important. Never before had he seen such splendid, powerful horses, or even more splendid, powerful riders. He couldn’t even place who they were until he noticed the golden crown perched on one’s head.

The Prince turned to his companion. “Leave us. I wish to settle this alone.”

His companion gave a confused nod and rose off.

Feliciano blinked in surprise as the Prince dismounted and kneeled down. “I am Prince Bonnefey, heir to the throne of Florin, and I ask for your hand in marriage.”

The two were silence. Feliciano sighed in thought, letting out a small “ve~” as he did. After what was an eternity to the Prince, he glance up. “No.”

The Prince stood up, managing to just barely contain the shock on his face. “I am your Prince and I command you.”

“I am your servant and I don't want to.”

“Refusal means death.”

“Kill me then.”

Francis blinked in surprise. “I can’t be _so_ terrible!”

Feliciano shook his head. “I have already loved more than you can imagine. And I’ve lost more. I cannot marry you, for there would be no love. And that's not what marriage is.”

This made Francis laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made the hairs on Feliciano’s neck stand up, and shook what confidence he had to the core.

“You obviously don’t know anything about political marriages. The kingdom needs a King, Queen and heir. It doesn’t matter to me whether you love me or not. In fact, it would be beneficial.”

Now Feliciano glanced down at his feet. “Are you really okay with no love?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Then let's get married.”

 

* * *

 

A red note-card filled the next page. England fought the urge to roll his eyes as he read it over.

_Can you believe this is the longer chapter in the book? I barely remembered it existed! 105 pages of wedding preparations, royalty satire and arguments, and I’ll sum it up in a sentence: “With one thing or another, three years passed”._

_-Florin_

England took a sip of tea to hide his annoyance. Honesty, how did she expect the book to be worth anything if it wasn’t complete?

Then again…

He glance up at America, who was gripping his sheets and sitting on the edge of the bed, completely enthralled. If he enjoyed it so much, England decided, then it was worth the constant skipping around. “’With one thing or another, three years passed…

 

Despite Prince Francis’ assurances, Feliciano, or Princess Feliciano of Hammersmith as he was known now (since a prince marrying a commoner was undignified) continued to worry. He worried about his new position, and tried very hard to be regal. He worried about pleasing his citizens, even though in his few public appearances, they took to him quite well.

Most of all, he worried about marriage. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like Francis. Actually, between the royalty training and the hunting he really didn’t get to see much of him. The idea of marrying without love still continued to unsettle him. However, he had already agreed to marry, and there was very little he could do about it now. With this mind full of thoughts, he packed his paining supplies and rode off.

It was twilight by the time Feliciano even remembered he had to turn back at some point. By that point, it was at least a half-hour’s ride away from the castle. And yet he still found himself distracted by the three weirdest travelers he had ever seen.

“Pardon me miss. A word?” the apparent leader of the trio approached. By his accent, Feliciano could tell he was Turkish, but that was the only thing that gave anything away about the man. He face was hidden under a white mask, his hair by a red fez, and he was cloaked heavily.

Hesitantly, the princess nodded.

“We are but three poor circus performers-” If Feliciano had been paying better attention, he might have noticed the other two's looks; one angry, one confused. “And we were told there was a nearby village who might enjoy our performance.”

“You’re mistaken.” Feliciano replied. “there’s nothing here for miles.”

“Good.” The Turk said. “Then no one will hear you scream.”

And that was all Feliciano could remember as the largest one approached him, and he fell unconscious.

He awoke on the water, bound tightly in a blanket. At first he tried to scream for help, but he stopped when they started to talk.

“What’s that you’re ripping?” A Spaniard called.

“A patch of a soldier from Guilder. Once it reaches the castle, they’ll believe that she was kidnapped by the Guilderins. And once they see her body on the Guilder frontier, that’ll only confirm their suspicions.”

The Spaniard hummed “I didn’t know we’d be killing her…”

“I hired you to start a war! Don’t tell me you’re afraid of killing now, Mr. Best-Swordsman-in-all-the-World!” The Turk yelled.

“I agree with him.” A Sicilian added. “I don’t think killing her is the best idea.”

The Turk growled slightly. “If it means so much to you, _I’ll_ kill her. Now we have a job to do here! We need to reach the Cliffs by dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: Let's talk about adaptations. In a lot of ways, this story is an adaptation (although probably not the most reputable one you could use). The Princess Bride the movie doesn't cover a lot of the same stuff as the Princess Bride the book. Specifically, this whole chapter. That doesn't make it bad; hell, this might be the best book-to-movie adaptation I've seen in a long time. But I still find it kind of ironic the chapter where Goldman complains about it being too long was cut from the movie altogether. I hope the movie-makers noticed that.


	4. Chapter 3: The Man in Black

The small ship continued silently through the night. The water was still and the weather was calm. The Turk remained confident in his plan, as he would remind them every so often. No one in Guilder knew what they had done, and no one in Florin could catch up so fast.

“So you’re sure nobody’s following us.” The Spaniard said as he gazed out into the channel.

“I’ve told you,” The Turk growled. “I’ve already planned for everything. Being followed would be absolutely, totally, and in every way inconceivable.”

The Sicilian let out a string of swears under his breath as response.

“Why do you ask?”

“A ship’s been following us since we left.” The Spaniard said, in such as casual way as he might have been talking about the weather. “It’s kept a good distance, but it’s unmistakable.”

The Turk sprung to his feet, muttering under his breath as he joined his companions in gazing out over the horizon.

And Feliciano was alone. With his mind rushing, he glanced out over at the channel and weighed his options. Few people had ever tried to swim the channel, and even if he tried, he wasn’t much of a swimmer. But then again, staying on the boat was guaranteed death. So as soon as he was positive no eyes were on him, he dove in, and didn’t dare rise until he couldn’t any longer. As he did, he saw the dorsal fins in front of him.

* * *

 

England tried his best to hide his squirming. Even before his pirate days, he could not _stand_ sharks.

“What’s wrong?”

But of course he couldn’t let his younger brother know that. Hey, it wasn’t like Florin was trying to preserve the story, either. “Sorry, lost my place again. Here we are. '

* * *

 

“Ya hear that, Highness!” The Turk called out from the ship. Feliciano didn’t dare turn around to see him. “Those are the Shrieking Eels. And they always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh!”

Whatever else the Turk was saying was lost on Feliciano. The shrieking grew louder. It grew closer. And before Feliciano could

* * *

England glanced back up. “Oh come now. Nobody dies just yet.”

America was practically sitting on the edge of his bed. One hand clutched at the blankets, knuckles growing white, and the other held onto the bowl of soup shakily. His eyes, originally wide with fear, mellowed out into a confused glare.

England rolled his eyes. “I mean, you’re getting very worked up about this.”

“I am not!” America objected, but his posture didn’t change. “Weren’t you worried when you first read this?”

And for just a second, England did remember when he first read it. It took a few weeks and Florin’s coaxing before he could pick it back up again. But still, he wouldn’t let his brother know that. “Very well.”

* * *

 

Behind him, one giant arm reach out, and Feliciano found himself colliding with the ship floor again. His first reaction was the rub his head. There had always been that one wayward curl, one that the palace hairdresser even hadn’t been able to smooth out, but this time it just so happened to be useful in saving him. His next reaction was to glance up, where the Sicilian was wiping wet hands on his clothes.

“Ve…thank you.” Feliciano stammered.

The Sicilian's face flushed, but he didn’t say much more. That was until the Spaniard went on about how cute he looked when he was embarrassed.

Despite Feliciano’s stunt, the ship still reached the Cliffs of Insanity by dawn. The Cliffs did provide the most direct route from Florin to Guilder and vice-verse, but, as its namesake would indicate, few people would ever try to climb it. Feliciano wasn’t even sure they would be climbing it until he was tossed over the Sicilian's shoulder.

The Cliffs were at least a thousand feet up, and he was carrying three, but the Italian didn’t care. He wasn’t terribly smart, or rich, and he had very little job skills he could fall off on if the ‘start a war’ thing fell through. But no one on Earth could say that Lovino Roma wasn’t strong.

About four hundred feet up and six hundred more to go, the Spaniard finally spoke up. “You’re doing a great job, Lovi.”

‘Lovi’ grunted in response.

“But I think you should know we’re still being followed.”

He didn’t, glance down, since he knew that two people were still on his shoulder, but he knew the Spaniard was telling the truth. “Damnit!”

“Faster!” The Turk ordered.

“I’m trying!” The Italian all but grunted. “And considering I have to carry all of you, I think I’m doing a pretty good job, damnit!”

Three hundred feet until they reach Guilder. Seven hundred feet below them, and their ship docked on the channel.

“Come on now!” The Turk ordered. “Wasn’t I told you were the strongest wrestler in Italy!?”

If Lovino was paying attention, he would have moved the punch the Turk and they would have fallen 690 feet down onto the beach. Fortunately for them, all of Lovino’s attention was on the rope, the cliffs, and his hands.

250 feet. Only the Spaniard was in any position to see, so he saw a man in black that was gaining on them fast.

100 feet, both for them to reach to top and how much of a lead they had on the man in black.

90 feet. 50 feet. 20 feet. Lovino pulled.

The Turk disembarked first, quickly pulled off Feliciano and the Spaniard, and moved to cut the rope. The man in black must have been nearly 300 feet up as the rope snapped and spiraled to the beach.

The Spaniard sighed. “It’s a shame, though. A climber like that shouldn’t meet an end like that…” He stopped as he glanced back down. 900 feet above the water, and 100 feet to go, the men in black hung off one of the rocks.

“He didn’t fall!?” The Turk shouted. “That’s…”

“‘Inconceivable’?” Lovino offered sarcastically.

“BULLSHIT!” It took the Turk some time to regain his thoughts. In that time, the man in black scaled 25 feet. “Fine. Obviously he’s seen us with the Princess, and must therefore die. That’s your job.” He jammed a finger at the Spaniard. “And you’re gonna help me carry her to the frontier.” Another finger was jabbed at Lovino.

Lovino muttered some curses, but he didn’t object as he slung Feliciano over his shoulder.

The Spaniard waved. “ _Adios_ , Lovi!”

“ _Idiota_ …” Lovino sighed. He added, a bit louder. “Be sure to catch up fast!”

The Spaniard didn’t reply, for Antonio had no intention of doing such a thing. He unsheathed his sword, holding it firmly in his left hand, and waited.

Fifty feet below him now, the man in black continued to scale the cliffs. Fourty-nine now. Fourty-eight.

Antonio had many great qualities, but none of them were patience. He stopped his pacing and glanced over the cliff. “Hello down there!”

The man in black grunted.

“Slow going?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Said the man in black. “But if you’re really going to help me, you could toss me a rope, or branch, or _something_.”

“I do not think it’ll matter much.” Antonio answered. “Because once you reach the top, I’m supposed to kill you.”

The man in black seemed to hesitate, as much as one could hesitate with 950 feet below him. “That does put a damper on our relationship.”

Fourty-five feet. Antonio stepped back, gathering what remained of the rope and tossed it back over the cliff. Both the man in black and the rope dangled above the cliffs silently.

The man in black dug his fist into the rock. “I haven’t got much reason to trust you, considering you plan to kill me when I get up there.”

“I’ll give you my word as a Spaniard!” Antonio declared.

“No good.” Fourty-three feet. “I know too many Spaniards.”

Antonio raised his hand high. “Then I swear on the soul of my father that you will reach the top alive.”

For a moment, the man in black dangled again. A black hand grabbed the rope, and soon the man in black was up.

“And now we’ll wait until you’re ready.” Antonio announced, only receiving a slight nod in acknowledgment.

Time passed. Antonio surveyed the land. He could picture no better place for such a duel to occur, and the terrain and thousand foot drop would be good for battle strategies. He surveyed the man in black: a fine sailor and finer climber, but it would be useless to him unless he could fence. _Really_ fence. And when he ran out of things to think about, he talked.

“By the way, do you have white hair and purple eyes?’

The man in black glanced back over at him. “Do you always start conversations this way?”

“The man who slaughtered my father had white hair and violet eyes, and I can’t exactly see under that mask.”

The man in black took off his mask, but only long enough for Antonio to see he didn’t. “Though now that you bring it up, I am a bit curious…”

Antonio nodded and took a seat of his own. “He was a skilled sword maker, my father. All over the world people would come to our village…though it was mostly for our neighbor; he was also in the trade. But when he couldn’t do it, well…he’d take the job anyway and give it to my father. My father was never in it for money. He was an artist of steel. One day, my father himself by the white haired man, who wanted a sword like no other. It took him a year, and I’ve never seen him work so hard.”

Antonio paused, withdrawing the sword once again and letting the man in black see it. In the low lights of dawn, it glistened.

“I have seen none like it.” The man it black noted as he handed it back.

“When the white haired man came back for it, he only gave a tenth of the promised price. My father wouldn’t have cared about the price, but to him this was seeing art as money. His last words were spent pitying the white-haired man for his ignorance. I challenged him to a duel, and naturally, I failed.”

“How old were you?” The man in black asked.

“Eleven. He kept me alive, and as soon as I recovered I devoted my life to sword-fighting. So on day, I may challenge the white haired man again and avenge my father. And I will say to him ‘Hello. My name is Antonio Fernandez Carrio, son of Domingo Carrio. Ten years ago, you murdered him with this very sword. Tonight, I avenge his death. Prepare to die.”

For a moment, there was silence. “It’s a bit long, don’t you think?” The man in black asked.

“I’ve waited a long time.” The Spaniard replied. “Nearly twenty years. There isn’t much money to be made in the ‘revenge’ department, though.”

“So you’ve started making wars.” The man in black concluded. “Very well, I have my breath back. We may start.”

“You seem like a decent fellow.” Antonio said as he pulled his sword. “I’d really hate to kill you.”

“You as well.” The man in black drew his weapon. “I’d hate to die. _Begin_.”

Antonio started with his left hand. He found himself starting with his left hand more and more, since it offered more of a challenge at the very least. The man in black started with his right. They touched swords, and Antonio was surprised to learn he could fence.

_Really_ fence.

They danced in the clearings, pushing each other into the trees and boulder and moving on the edge of the cliffs. Never once, though, did Antonio feel unchallenged. He drew first blood, but only a scratch. The man in black, meanwhile, had already managed to push him to the edge of the cliffs.

“Alright. You are clearly better than I am.” Antonio said.

Still, the man in black didn’t lower his guard. “Then why are you smiling?”

“I know something you do not.”

“Oh?”

“I am not left handed!” The sword was all but tossed into his right hand, and they began again.

The man in black tried to side-step, tried to parry, but once Antonio got his advantage, there was nothing he could do. So soon enough, the man in black was forced along the edge of the cliff as well.

“You cannot tell, but I am smiling under this mask.” The man in black said.

“Why?”

“You said you aren’t left handed?”

“Yes?”

_“I am.”_

And then there was no advantage Antonio could find, and nothing that could stop the man in black. His sword was tossed to the side.

“Who are you?” asked Antonio.

“Nobody of importance.”

“I _must_.”

“Get used to disappointment. And please understand I hold you in the highest regard.”

Antonio’s world went black.

* * *

Lovino was the first to see the man in black emerge triumphant. He quickly informed Sadik, who responded in a string of swears.

“Never mind then. Plan B. You go ahead and fight him your way.”

“And what the hell is my way?” Lovino asked.

“Just pick up a rock and chuck it at him! I don’t care!” The Turk grabbed Feliciano and went up the mountain path, straight out of sight.

Lovino glanced back. The man in black was still far away, but approaching rapidly. For just a second, Lovino toyed with the idea that Antonio did succeed, and dressed as the man in black to scare them. Nobody could best Antonio in steel.

But the man in black did.

Nobody could beat Lovino in strength.

And the man in black nearly did.

Lovino glanced over to the boulder. They were the size of cannonballs, and no doubt he would squish the man in black like a bug if he threw them. “‘My way’ isn’t very sportsmanlike…” He noted aloud.

The man in black was even closer now.

“Alright, _bastardo_. Prove to me you’re worth my time.” The Sicilian sat down on one of the rocks, and waited.

As soon as the man in black was in sight, Lovino chucked one of the boulders. It was only a good foot away from the man in black’s face, but it was enough to make him stop. “I didn’t have to miss, you know.” Lovino said as he stepped away from his hiding place.

The man in black nodded. “So what happens now?”

“We fight fairly. No tricks, no weapons, just strength against strength.”

“So I put down my sword and you put down your rock and we’ll kill each other the way God intended?”

“I could kill you now, _pezzo di merda._  I’m offering you a chance here.”

“No, no. Let’s.”  The man in black put down his sword. “Before we begin, I suppose you don’t have any questions for me?”

“I am a bit curious as to why you wear a mask, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Your Spanish friend was quite curious as to what I look like under it. Had a very good story to go with it. I do hope he succeeds later on. And the mask is very comfortable, I’ll have you know.”

Lovino folded his arms. He seemed like a decent enough fellow, even though he beat Antonio. But this was delaying the inevitable. “You’re not gonna get such a story from me. I was a wrestler before, I’m not anymore, end of story.”

“Very well. Let us begin.”

The man in black was larger than Lovino, but that didn’t worry him. So he let the man in black fumble around and test his strength for a moment, and then grabbed him. The plan was to lift him up and squeeze until the man in black’s breath left him. Before he could do that part, however, the man in black spun and squirmed out of his grasp.

And then it happened again.

 Lovino had just enough time to wonder if he losing his strength when the man in black’s glove hands grabbed him. 

Lovino was lifted.

Lovino was squeezed.

And just as he was about to lose his breath, he collided with the floor. He had just enough time to see the man in black run off before the world turned black.

* * *

 

Sadik was waiting for him. He had set up a nice picnic spread, overlooking the cliffs and the channel. Feliciano would have liked to paint it, but he couldn’t do much of anything right now since his hands were tied and his mouth and eyes bound. 

“Welcome.” Sadik said as the man in black approached. “You’ve bested my Spaniard and you’ve bested my Sicilian. So now it’s down to you and me.”

“Let me explain.” The man in black started. The second he took a step forward was the second Sadik took a knife off the table and raised it directly at Feliciano’s neck.

“I may not know what you’re capable of, but I do know you’re trying to take what I rightfully stole. And I can’t let that happen.”

“Perhaps we could make an arrangement, then.”

“Hey, hey!” Sadik raised the knife closer. “I’m not dumb enough to fall for one of your challenges after you beat the others like that!”

“I never said we’ll fight with strength. We’ll battle with wits.”

Sadik seemed to consider this. It was very difficult to read any emotions on him, since most of his face was covered in a mask. Slowly, he lowered the knife and invited the man in black to sit.

From his dark clothes, the man in black withdrew a small envelope and handed it to Sadik. “Smell, but don’t touch.”

The Turk followed his instructions. “I smell nothing.”

“That nothing you smell is iocane powder. Oderless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in water, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man.”

“And what’s your plan for all of this?” Sadik asked, ready to raise the knife again.

The man in black didn’t respond, only taking the goblets and turning away from Sadik’s curious glances. When he turned back, one goblet was placed in front of himself and the other in front of Sadik.   
He tossed the empty envelope onto the table.

“The battle of wits has begun.” Said the man in black. “It ends when you decide which goblet has the poison, and we find out who is right and who dies.”

Sadik stared at the goblets.

And stared.

And stared.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? How in the hell am I suppose to deduce this!?”

“Do you give up?” The man in black asked.

“Never! Okay…” Sadik thought. Really, truly thought. Never before, and never again, had he been faced with such a problem, and it would require every ounce of wisdom he could muster. It was so simple, and at the same time so difficult.

“Alright. So I can’t assume you put the wine in my cup, for only a great fool would reach for what he was given. But you might have planned on me knowing that, so I still can’t reach for your goblet. You’ve beaten my Sicilian, so you must be very strong and would rely on your strength to beat the poison. But you’ve also beaten my Spaniard, meaning you’ve studied fencing and have learned that a man is mortal. Iocane powder, as we know, is from Australia, which we all know is full of criminals

* * *

New Zealand jumped as the glass shattered. Australia didn’t notice the broken china in his hand. His gaze rested on the horizon, foggy and distant.

“What’s wrong?” New Zealand asked.

“I don’t know why…” Australia spoke. “But I just got the sudden urge to kick England’s ass right now.”

* * *

And criminals cannot be trusted! _I_ should know!”

“So have you decided?” The man in black asked.

“THERE’S NO WAY _TO_ DECIDE, DAMNIT!” Sadik snapped. “It’s as random as flipping a coin! You might as well have put it in both….”

And Sadik glanced up at the man in black. “So that’s it, huh? Fine, we’ll drink.”

The two men reach for their goblets. They drank at the same time, drank the same amount, and swallowed at the same time.

“Well now you’ve just made sure that _nobody_ can have the princess!” Sadik said. “She’s already bound and tied, so the Florin Guard will already think that it was Guilder. All you’ve done is added to the body count! I.  Still. Win.”

He was quite cheery up until his death.

Feliciano’s blindfold was quickly snatched off, and the binds removed. “So if both drinks were poisoned…” He started.

“I’ve spent the last year building up an immunity to iocane powder.” The man in black explain.

Feliciano looked at the man in black. He was terrifying to him; hooded, dangerous, and speaking in a rough, strained voice. It was taking quite a bit of effort as it was to not completely freak out. “Who are you?”

“No one to be trifled with, Highness.” The man in black pulled after him, and Feliciano could do nothing but follow as he ran.

They moved all along the mountain paths and into the wild terrain, Feliciano dragged all the way by his wrists. He tried his best to move along the path, avoiding the rocks and making sure his dress wouldn’t rip out from under him. He tried his best not to babble pleas and apologies along the way.

Finally, the man in black released his grasp. “We can rest now.” He said, never once turning his back to face him.

Feliciano tried to regain his composure. He tried very hard not to freak out and run away. He sought out a nice boulder to sit on and waited for his breath to return to him before speaking. “Whatever you want in ransom, you’ll get it, just please—”

The man’s laughter cut him off. “And whose word is that? The word of a princess?’

Feliciano couldn’t answer that. “The word of Prince Francis. He can save me.”

“Oh. So you’re greatest love will save you?”

“I never said he was my greatest love! But he will find me, I’m sure of it.”

Now the man in black turned his attention to him. “So you admit you do not love him?”

“Francis and I have never lied to each other. He knows I do not love him.”

“Are not capable of love, I think.”

Feliciano rose. “I have loved more than a killer like you can imagine. You’re the Dread Pirate Germania, aren’t you?”

The man in black gave a gracious bow. “Pleasure. And what can I do for you, Highness?”

There were few times in Feliciano’s life that he could remember being truly angry. Upset. Scared. Hurt. But never angry. “Die slowly, cut in a thousand pieces.”

The Dread Pirate Germania clicked his tongue. “That’s hardly complimentary.”

“You mock my pain! It’s because of you I lost my only love!”

“I’ve killed plenty of people. Who was this one? Ugly? Rich? Scabby?”

“Farm Boy. Pure. Perfect.”

There was silence for a minute. The man in black took a seat on another boulder. “I think I remember this boy. He died well, if that pleases you. No begging, no blubbering. He just said ‘Please. Please, I need to live.’ I asked him why, and he said ‘True love’. He spoke of unending beauty and undying faithfulness. I assume he meant you. So tell me: did you get engaged to your prince the second you heard the news or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?”

There were few times in Feliciano’s life that he could remember being truly angry. So it was a bit surprising that the rage he felt at that moment would rise up in the 20 Greatest Rages of All Time.

_“I died that day! And you can die for all I care!”_

Down into the ravine the man in black went. Words followed him. “As...you...wish...”

Down into the ravine went Feliciano, chasing after his Farm Boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: I wanted to have the characters presented reflect, at least in part, their roles in Hetalia. America wouldn't have been around in whenever Florin was, so he and England are doing the grandfather-son subplot. Italy and Germany are the main character of Hetalia (for a given definition of main), so they are the main characters here. It's not perfect, but it works. My biggest problem was finding someone to be Vezinni. Hetalia is a relatively villain-less show, so it's hard to book not one but three villains to play the role. I settled on Turkey, because he was sort of the villain of the Chibitalia strips, but I'm not sure if that benefited me. I found very little information on Turkey as a character, and I'm not entirely sure if he comes across out of character because of it. Oh well, I stand by my choices.
> 
> On a similar note, I specifically chose Lichtenstein for the Princess of Guilder because I figured nobody actually shipped her and France, so I wouldn't get people jumping down my throat about it. Oh boy...let's watch the ship sink on that one, shall we?


	5. Chapter 4: The Fire Swamp

It was just like any other hunt, Francis decided. It didn’t matter if the prey was a bird or a bride-to-be, the method was still the same. You gathered evidence. You studied. You strategized. Then you acted.

It was, of course, easy to trace Feliciano’s capture to the Guilderean soldiers. Harder was tracing the footprints of the duel, but nowhere near impossible. And it would have taken a fool to not notice how the battle with the wrestler turned out. And so the conclusion was made that whoever had the princess now was a master (if not better, Francis couldn’t tell) swordsman, master wrestler, and master in the use of poisons.

“It’s strange then,” The Count noted. “That he would travel so blindly into the ravine.”

“Oh? And where does the ravine lead?”

“Into the Fire Swamp.”

Francis began rethinking his strategy.

It wasn’t that he began fearing the kidnapper. Quite the opposite. If he didn’t have something he wanted, Francis would probably begin pitying him. “We’ll go around. If he doesn’t already perish in the Fire Swamp, then we’ll have him.”

* * *

Neither of them knew, of course, that they were racing into the famous Guilder/Florin Fire Swamp.

To what was once the Dread Pirate Germania, he knew that climbing back up the ravine in his condition would be too much, and had simply chosen what he thought was best at the time. To Feliciano, he wasn’t thinking about it period. All he was thinking about was his dear sweet Farm Boy, alive, unharmed…

And for some reason, a pirate. Feliciano wondered if he should be afraid of that, but he got a little more frightened as he saw what they were running into.

It is important to note that Fire Swamps are, for all intents and purposes, just swamps with a fancy name. The fancy name came from the gas bubbles that, when they burst, caused a chemical reaction that caused whatever was so unfortunate to be in its path to burst into flames. The famous Florin/Guilder Fire Swamp, however, had a few more characteristics that distinguished it from the average fire swamp, but that will be explained later.

“It’s not that bad.” Feliciano noted aloud. The man in black glanced back at him, and while his face was still covered, Feliciano could tell that he was staring at him in disbelief. “Well, I’m not saying that we should live here, but I don’t think it’s as bad as the villagers say. I always thought I would die here. I quite like the trees.”

“We shouldn’t be in here for too long.” He said, taking hesitant first steps. “The ship is docked at the other end of this swamp.”

Feliciano meant to say something, but the second he opened his mouth a loud _pop!_ echoed through the forest, and Feliciano became aware that his dress was on fire. By the time the flames were out the skirt was already about an inch shorter. “Ve~….there goes this dress…” He sighed and took another step forward.

_Pop!_

This time, Feliciano was lifted up and tossed out of the way before the flames engulfed where he was standing just two seconds ago.

“Perhaps,” said he. “But now we know how to avoid the flash fires.”

Feliciano nodded again, still unsure of what to make of any of this.

They moved through the swamp, only stopping to dodge the flash fires and to navigate through the trees. Finally, Feliciano mustered his strength and spoke up. “You say you are the Dread Pirate Germania, but you’ve only been not-dead for six years and he’s been around for nearly twenty.”

The farm boy stopped dead in his tracks. It was obvious that whatever Feliciano said had troubled him. Before Feliciano could start an apology, he spoke quietly. “It doesn’t concern you.”

Feliciano blinked, his fear subsiding into anger. “I thought he killed you for six years. I should know why we need to escape to his ship now.”

The man in black was still frozen in place for some time. When he moved again, it was to remove his mask. “The part I told you about the pleading was true. And I’m not sure why, but it seems it stick with the Dread Pirate Germania. So he said ‘I do hear your plight. But if word ever gets out that the Dread Pirate Germania has gone soft, then everyone’ll think they have a chance with me and it’ll be nothing but work, work, work. And work is totally un-awesome’. He said that a lot. This was awesome, that was un-awesome. Nothing was more awesome than him, of course. Then he took up his sword and sliced off my hat. ‘There.’ He said. ‘The Farm boy is dead. Now there’s only Ludwig the Cabin-Boy.’

“Three years I was Ludwig the Cabin Boy. I worked for nearly twenty hours a day, and if I wasn’t already asleep, I studied. Fencing, wrestling, piracy…anything I could get near. Not a day passed when I didn’t have anything to study, and I eventually put that studying to use around the ship. Germania noticed this, and one morning he pulled me into his cabin.

“‘A good year or two from now, you’ll be rich enough to return to your beloved’ He said. ‘But some of these sailors have been here their entire lives and they’re not rich enough’. I pointed out. ‘Well, they’re not captain, are they?’ His real name was Gilbert. He explained to me that he inherited the ship from another sailor, and he wasn’t the real Germania, either. The real Germania had been retired for over a decade at that point. He had enough to live on like a king at that point, so he passed the ship onto his first mate, who passed it onto Gilbert. And now that we’re together again, I shall pass it on to someone else.

“Ludwig, Farm Boy…I don’t particularly care which you call me. But the Farm Boy is dead; do try remember that when we’re in public. The last thing I need is Gilbert coming after me and calling me some sort of zombie.”

Feliciano nodded in understanding. “Ludwig. I like that.” He was about to ask another question, but he could only managed a “Wuh” sound before he was pulled under.

There is a big difference between Lightning Sand and Snow Sand. Lighting Sand is moist and destroys by drowning. Snow Sand is powdery and destroys by suffocation. This was before such a difference was discovered, but the point was all the same: Feliciano was about to die.

He floated in the powdery mess, trying his best not to panic and remember what Ludwig had told him about making it easier to be saved. He sank as the sand around him grew heavier and heavier, and his mind turned to wondering if he would just sink forever. “Ludwig, help me!” He called, or at least tried to, but all that came out was a “Luh!”

He didn’t need to panic for much longer, since Ludwig had already started the rescue. By the time Feliciano started calling for him, he was already grabbing onto him and pulling him back up.

They emerged, and each found a comfortable spot on the ground where they could spend a minute recovering their breath. When Feliciano did regain his breath, he spoke up. “We’re not going to make it.”

“Wrong.” Ludwig gasped as he stood up. “We’re already more than halfway through. We’ve already found a way to predict the Flash Fires, and we managed to figure out what Lightning Sand looks like, so we can avoid that in the future. That’s two of the three perils of the Fire Swamp mastered.

“Yes, but what about…” Feliciano froze in fear.

For the if the rumors were true, the third peril of the Fire Swamp was the most dangerous one yet. Nothing of the creature at the time had been discovered. We know now that they are small and round, with white long hair and big sharp teeth and very little else. Even if someone could survive the other two obstacles, they certainly wouldn’t survive these.

“The mochis?” Ludwig asked. Then, with a laugh, “I don’t think they exist.”

If he wanted to say anything else, he was cut off as a storm of white blobs knocked him over.

It didn’t take Ludwig very long to figure out the best say of getting rid of the mochis was to grab them by the hair and toss them out of the way. By the time he managed it, however, they had already injured him too greatly. He only just noticed the blood oozing from his shoulders before he was attacked again. They had gotten clever, and dug into his wounds with their very sharp teeth.

_Pop!_

Ludwig could not see above it. He couldn’t tell if Feliciano was safe or half-eaten, but he knew if he delayed too long, he would be. So he intentionally sought out the Flash Fire and rolled into it. His clothes burned, and the when the mochis moved his skin did too, but the job was done and the mochis scrambled off. Ludwig took his chance and rose to his feet, tossing a knife in the nearest mochi he could.

“Alright.” He said as he caught his breath. “I believe in them _now_.” He glanced up, just in time to see the white blur coming his way and being knocked out by a long branch.

Feliciano lowered the branch. “I’m sorry! I meant to reach for your sword, but you had to knock it back when you were wrestling, so I needed something else…” He trailed off as he saw what Ludwig was looking at.

His skirt was still long enough that it didn’t reveal anything, but only just. Long gashes had been made from where the mochis attacked. They didn’t bleed, but they did reveal his chest. What were once puffy sleeves now were barely straps holding it together. Feliciano “ve~”ed as he saw Ludwig turn a bright shade of red.

“Your…your dress is…” was all Ludwig managed to stammer. Not that he was sinking. Not that he was being attacked by the mochis again. Because he was simply too embarrassed.

Feliciano glanced down at the damage. “It was only the dress. I wasn’t hurt. Besides, this was one of the palace dresses. Though I am sorry about the scraps. I know you would have liked to use them as bandages…They didn’t hurt you too much, did they, Ludwig? You didn’t burn your face? You look really red right now. Almost like a tomato…”

* * *

 

Lovino sneezed as he jumped into consciousness. He couldn’t tell how long he had been out, but it couldn’t have been longer than a few hours. By that time, he realized, the man in black would have already reached Sadik.

His first instinct was to go get that slobbering drunk Spaniard. When he reached the cliffs again, however, Antonio was gone.

His second instinct was to go find the slobbering drunk Turk. He was exactly where Lovino expected him to be, however. Just dead.

Sadik’s plan for if they had failed were simple: return to the Thieves’ Quarters to meet up again. Antonio had tried to make it into a rhyme to make it even easier to remember, and probably would have if Lovino didn’t tell him that he’d be there to remind him if the plans did go wrong. Only now did Lovnio feel bad about it, and clung onto the small hope that Antonio did remember it.

* * *

 

Feliciano and Ludwig were only in the Fire Swamp for another hour after that. It was the most peaceful part so far, and they emerged hand very much in hand.

Between them and the ship, however, were a few inconveniences.

Such as the Florin Navy, a hundred horsemen, and the Prince and Count.

“Surrender.” The Count ordered.

Ludwig smirked. He withdrew his sword with the hand not currently occupied. His mask was still on, and he quickly jumped back into the role of the Dread Pirate Germania. “You wish to surrender? Very well. We’ll discuss terms.”

Now Francis smirked. “Full marks for bravery, but do not make yourself a fool. For the last time, surrender.”

“It will not happen.”

“SURRENDER!”

“DEATH! FIRST!”

“DO YOU PROMISE NOT TO HURT HIM!?” all heads turn towards Feliciano.

“What was that?” asked the Count.

“What was that?” asked Ludwig.

“I said,” Feliciano started. His voice was a bit quieter, but still loud enough that no one could notice how his voice shaked. “Do you promise not to hurt him?”

“Of course!” Francis said. “On the soul of my soon-to-be-dead father, no harm shall come to him.”

Ludwig looked at Feliciano. Despite longing for those eyes for the last six years, Feliciano had a hard time meeting them now.”You would rather live with the one you hate that die with the one you love.”

“I have lost you once already, and it nearly killed me. I won’t let it happen again, not if I can do something about it.” Feliciano kissed him on the cheek, and joined Francis on his horse.

99 horsemen and the Florin Navy left. Only the Count and Ludwig remained. “You know,” Ludwig spoke up. “There was a Spaniard on the other side of the Swamp that said he was looking for you.”

A rough club hit him on the head, and the last thing Ludwig was the smile on Count Ivan Braginski’s face as he fell into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: Replacing the ROUSes with the mochis was literally the only reason I decided to write this story.


	6. Chapter 5: The Machine

The first thing that Ludwig saw as he came back into consciousness was the face of whoever was standing above him, looking only somewhat concerned. It took him a bit longer to see past his pain and the dim lighting and make out pale hair and a dark dress. “Where am I?” He managed to asked.

_“De Pits of Despair! Don’t even…”_ She trailed off into a coughing fit. “Don’t even think of trying to escape. These chains are far too thick. Do mind the dust down here; I’ve been working here for years and it’s all but bleached my hair.”

If he had the strength, Ludwig would have nodded. Instead, he let his eyes follow her arm as she tended to a still-angry Mochi bite on his arm. “You don’t want me to die down here?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug, not bothering to look up as she worked.

“Then why tend to my wounds?”

“The Masters insist that you’re fixed before they break you.”

“The Count and the Prince?”

Shrug.

Ludwig adjusted his head as best he could back onto the pillow.

Torture. He could handle torture. Working on a pirate ship for ten years while his love thought he was dead was experience enough in torture. All he needed to do was focus. Focus on something so pure and so irresistible that not even death could tarnish it.

His thoughts turned to Feliciano.

“I can handle it.”

The cleaning stopped. She shook her head. “You’re obviously very brave, to survive the Fire Swamp and all. But believe me: nobody survives the Machine.”

* * *

 

The festivities continued for nearly a week after Feliciano returned. In truth, they would have lasted even longer, but Francis had tried to cut it off as soon as possible lest another incident occur. The days passed in a blur of parties, drinks, dresses and people, and for the first time in his life Feliciano let himself get bored.

The King soon passed, bringing an end to Feliciano’s rescue festivities. Feliciano and Francis were married soon after, bringing the start of the anniversary and marriage festivities. Feliciano was slated to meet his subjects again, this time as their Queen.

* * *

 

“That’s not right.”

England glanced up. Sky blue eyes were narrowed into a glare at him.

“You’re not reading the story right.”

“Don’t be daft; of course I am.”

“But that’s wrong! They couldn’t do that, could they! It’s not fair!”

England decided to take this break for a sip of tea. _Fair_. How did he let the idea of _fairness_ get into the Colony’s head? He never got so excited over a book, did he?

Yes. Yes he did. And, unless he remembered wrong, it was this part too. It took him nearly a year to get over it and finish the story. “I think we’re taking this a bit seriously. Maybe we should take a break for now.”

“No.” It was the most stubborn, but also the most pleading, England had ever heard America. His eyes were shining now with some spark of determination. “Keep reading. I can handle it.”

England obliged.

* * *

“My father’s final words were: ‘Love him as I love her, and there will be joy.’ I now present to you: Queen Feliciano!”

The crowds died down as Feliciano appeared. A near silence fell over them as the crowd bowed.

One didn’t. “Fucking bastard.”

The person who spoke didn’t really look human, so much as a gray humanoid blob, but that wasn’t what Feliciano was focusing on.

“Why do you say that?” He managed to stutter. The small confidence he had left instantly shattered, and he realized that he had never felt so vulnerable since his love shut the door in his face so many years ago.

“You are! You’re the Queen of Bastards! Why marry another when your true love lives!”

Feliciano’s mouth moved, but no sound came. Why should he argue when the creature was right?

The figure continued. “True love saved you in the Fire Swamp, and yet you throw it away like garbage for that damn frog up there! Bow down if you’d like, for that’s all he’ll ever be! The Queen of Garbage and Bastards!”

Feliciano jolted awake.

Not queen.

Not married.

King still alive.

Still a week to go.

* * *

 

“See! I told you!”

“Yes, you’re very smart, shut up.”

* * *

 

But that was the fifth nightmare Feliciano had since he had returned. And he simply couldn’t bear it anymore.

Without another thought, he sprung out of his bed and ran into Francis’ chambers. “I can’t marry you. I love Ludwig; always have, always will. And if I am to marry you, know that I’ll be dead before the ceremony is over.”

Francis blinked. And blinked again.

As soon as Feliciano realized that this maybe wasn’t the best idea, Francis stood. “If it makes you that unhappy, then consider the wedding off.”

All at once, a great weight was lifted off of Feliciano’s shoulders. He was so happy he failed to see the surprised glace the Count shot at the Prince. He failed to see the calculating gaze that filled Francis’ gaze.

“But I must wonder…would your Ludwig still want you back? You were the one that called it off, if I remember.”

And the weight came crashing back down. Feliciano could only stammer as a result.

“I’ll tell you what.” Francis leaned over his desk. “Write four copies of a letter, and I’ll send my fastest ships in all directions. Germania likes to hang around Florin this time of year, so it won’t be too hard to find him.”

Ivan nodded and said nothing. If Feliciano was paying attention, he would see that his eyes were wide.

“And if that fails,” Piercing blue eyes met Feliciano’s amber. “Please consider me an alternative to suicide."

* * *

 

“You really don’t mean any of that, do you?” Ivan asked once they were safely out of the castle and in the forest.

“Well of course not!” Francis exclaimed. “Letting go of him now would ruin all of our plans! It was enough trouble dealing with the Turk’s failure and his… ‘his’ness.”

Ivan hummed in thought. Most of his attention was deterred to finding the entrance. That knot had always been hard to find, but he supposed that was the point. “I thought you wouldn’t mind that.”

“I wouldn’t.” Francis sighed. “He’s certainly attractive enough. But it’s problematic _now_. We need to keep the country from finding out, at least until the wedding.”

_There_ it was. The doors to the Pits of Despair opened. “We’re starting today. Are you sure you don’t wish to join?” asked Ivan.

“Ivan, you know how I love watching you work. But I’m just so busy now! I have my country’s anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to kill, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m just swamped!”

“Get your rest.” said Ivan as he turned to enter the Pits. “Where would you be without your health?”

Down and down and down the Count went. The sunlight faded, soon to be replaced by dull torches and candlelight. The air grew heavy and thick with dust. Without thinking, the Count drew his scarf closer for extra warmth. But he soon made it to his destination, and fought off a smile as he studied his prisoner and his machine. “Ah. So everything’s set up then?”

Natalia gave a nod. He fought off a shiver that went down his spine at her harsh, but lustful, gaze.

“Then we’ll get started.” He started up the Machine on its lowest setting. That seemed fair. Why rush such a perfect specimen like him?

The Machine activated.

Natalia, Ludwig decided, really wasn’t kidding when she warned him. If he had been paying attention, he would be feeling the force of a year of his life being sucked out of his body. He wasn’t paying attention, though. All of his focus was on Feliciano, only stopping occasionally to thrash around and make it look like he was in pain. His perfect smile, his soft eyes, that stray curl that always managed to sneak out…how tanned and strong and perfect his chest and as it snuck out of his dress…

If truth be told, Ludwig wasn’t very sure on how to feel that his true love was actually a guy. Really, Ludwig was a more concerned that he looked so much more attractive in a dress than without it.

After a minute or so, the Machine began to shut off. “Now then, you should know that these experiments are just as scientific in purpose as they are for revenge for you ruining our assassination attempt. I plan on pulling all my studies together and writing a book. The go-to book for everything on pain. So tell me: how does the Machine make you feel?”

Ludwig faked a sob.

“I see.”

* * *

 

Antonio didn’t remember Sadik’s plan. He didn’t go looking for the Turk or Lovi. It didn’t even occur to him that the plan had failed.

All the same, he managed to return to the Thieves’ Quarters. It was the first time since he took up his quest for revenge that he had been defeated, and he needed a drink. A drink turned into two, or three, or a dozen, and Antonio found himself back at the beginning.

Things were changing in the Thieves’ Quarters. It was the day of the wedding, and as such security was cracking down even harder to prevent the princess from being kidnapped again. An entire Brute Squad had even been set up to clear out the town. It didn’t matter to Antonio, though. He was a master, possibly even better, swordsman, and he needed his drink.

And sure enough, they didn’t bother him. At least until he was the last criminal left. Then they had turned every last resource on him.

Antonio was a master, possibly even better, swordsman, but he was still very drunk and he had a limit to as many as he could take on. He had just passed that limit when he was knocked back with a very large fist.

Even in his drunken, beaten up stupor, Antonio recognized the person the fist was connected to.

“Lovi…”

“Don’t call me that, _bastardo!_ ”

What members of the Brute Squad remained to look at their new challenger: Lovino Roma, simultaneously the world’s best and world’s worst wrestler. He was the best because he was very good at what he did.

He was the worst because he didn’t offer much of a show while he did it.

What members of the Brute Squad remained decided to take their best chance and retreated.

“Now what happened to you? You look like hell…smell like it too.”

“Ah~, I’m fine.” With that, Antonio collapsed.

* * *

 

Lovino spent the next few hours tending to Antonio, doing his best to sober him up. It was a slow process, considering in the last week since they had last seen each other, the Spaniard had drunk his weight and possibly more in wine and it was already hard enough to tell when he was sober and when he wasn’t. Eventually, after a nice warm meal and a few ducks into a freezing cold bath, Antonio became a bit more responsive.

“The Man in Black.” Was the first thing Antonio managed to say that wasn’t a drunken slur. “He beat you in wrestling. He beat me in fencing. He must have beat Sadik in planning. He’s the only man that can help me avenge my father.”

“Well that’s just great. Just how in the hell do you expect to find him! We don’t know what he looks like, we don’t know where he went…we barely know why he was chasing us to begin with!”

“WRONG!”

It was the most angry Lovino had ever seen Antonio, and probably as angry as he would ever get. It barely scraped the top 100,000 rages of all time.

“True love, Lovi. That’s why he was chasing us. He was in love with the princess, and when we tried to kill her, he followed.”

Lovino could only tell that Antonio was sober (enough) by the fact that he was standing upright and his speech wasn’t slurring. Even then, he didn’t believe it. “How’d you figure that one out?”

“Easy. The Princess isn’t dead. If the Man in Black truly wanted to kill her, he would have done so.”

“That’s because the Prince- _figlio di puttana_ got to her first!”

“But why would the Princess go with the Prince if her love still lives? Clearly, the Princess must have reasoned her life for his. So the Man in Black is being held by the Prince, and after his beloved has been stolen twice from him now, he’ll certainly want revenge. So if we help him with his quest for revenge, he’ll certainly help me with mine!”

Lovino could only shake his head and sigh as an answer. In the moments it took him to do that, Antonio was already halfway out the door.

“And do you have any idea where the Man in Black would be held, if any of that was accurate?”

“Don’t bother me with trifles.” The door slammed.

Lovino swore under his breath, but all the same followed him.

* * *

 

The Thieves’ Quarters were empty.

Sixty men were slated to guard the ceremony.

The castle was to be locked, with the only key residing with Chief Enforcer Felicks Lukasiwicz.

Francis and Feliciano were to be married in 5 hours.

“And in the morning, we shall set off for our honeymoon together with all the ships in the armada!” Francis explained. “Oh, it’s so wonderful when a plan comes together!”

He was saying more, but Feliciano couldn’t hear him anymore. He was still stuck on that last sentence. “All the ships?”

“Well, of course! Only the best for our wedding!”

“All but four.”

Francis glanced at him with an eyebrow arched and a slight tilt of the head. “Pardon?”

“All but the fastest four you sent to Ludwig.”

It took a few seconds for realization to dawn. It was enough for Feliciano. “You never sent them.” He said.

Silence fell in the Prince’s chambers.

“Okay, so I still have some planning to do. I’ll, like, totally see you later!” Chief Enforcer Felicks Lukasiwicz scrambled out of the room.

Feliciano summoned what courage remained. He balanced his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning down and looking the Prince dead in the eye. “Ludwig will come for me anyway. We are joined by the bonds of love, and that is something you can’t hunt. I was foolish to see you are so much of a coward.”

Another silence.

“And you really feel this way?” asked Francis.

The courage Feliciano had was quickly depleting, so he managed to nod in answer.

“Very well. I do think I need to assist Chief Enforcer Lukasiwicz with something.” The Prince ran out of the chamber.

* * *

 

It had been a good session, the Count had said. Ludwig was producing wonderful results, and at the rate they were going, he wouldn’t need new test subjects for quite a while. He said this in a way that Ludwig couldn’t help but feel like he should be proud of these results.

Certainly, Ludwig was doing well, just not in the way the Count was planning. His body hurt and Natalia had to tend to it after every session, but he himself was never there.

It had been one of the post-sessions, when Natalia was tending to his wounds when she showed him a small, purple vial. “The wedding is tonight.” Was her only explanation.

“Poison?” He had to guess.

Shrug.

“I don’t need it. I’ll…manage. Besides, I’ve spent the last few years acquiring quite the poison immunity. I doubt it’ll work on me.”

Shrug. Natalia didn’t move the vial, though.

The sounds of approaching footsteps came closer and closer, and soon Prince Francis stormed into the room. Natalia jumped out of the way just in time as Francis took Ludwig by the neck and drew him up. “You truly love him?”

Ludwig didn’t even bat an eye. “Yes,” He meant to say, but since his jaw was immobilized it came out as “’s.”

“Pity. If you hadn’t gotten in my way, you could have lived a full, happy life.”

Francis pulled a nearby lever. The Machine activated.

The scream Ludwig let out could be heard across Florin. It could be heard in the palace, where Felciano was wondering who could be in more pain than himself and where the King was hearing the first real sound he had heard in a while.

It could be heard in the cities and villages, where, just for a moment or so, all activity stopped.

It could be heard through the Thieves’ Forest and through the Florin Channel.

It could be heard in the Thieves’ Quarters.

“What the hell is that?” Lovino asked.

“That, _mi amigo_ , is the Sound of Ultimate Suffering. It is the sound my heart made when my father was murdered. The Man in Black makes it now.” Antonio withdrew his sword and held it high. _“Habrá sangre esta noche!”_

* * *

 

Three hours until the wedding.

Natalia almost felt bad for Ludwig. No matter who you were or what he had done to provoke such a rage, nobody deserved such a death. His screams still rang in her ears, and Natalia figured that partial deafness was just another gift the Pits of Despair had given her.

She couldn’t complain though. It was the only job she had that would keep her close to her beloved Ivan, so she’d take what she got.

Her wheelbarrow clicked to a stop. She glanced up.

“Hello!” Antonio greeted cheerfully. “You know where the Man in Black is?”

Natalia shrugged.

“I see. Lovi, please jog her memory.”

A hand collided with her head, and Natalia was knocked out.

“Damnit.” Lovino growled. “Didn’t mean to hit her _that_ hard.”

Antonio wasn’t paying attention anymore. He knelt down on the forest floor and extended his sword. Lovino could hear him murmur and Spanish, but the words weren’t known to him. “Now what the hell are you doing?”

Still, Antonio didn’t respond. He slowly rose, and Lovino could only watch silently as he walked around, his eyes still closed and his sword still extended.

Finally, he opened his eyes. His sword was pierced in a tree.

Antonio had just a second to despair and collapse onto a knot before the door to the Pits of Despair opened.

Down and down they went into the Pits, until the sunlight faded and was replaced with candlelight, the dust became heavy and tangible, and the air grew dark before them. They didn’t notice any of this. The first thing they saw was the Man in Black, dead on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: I've mentioned before that Hetalia is hard to write a fusion fic with because there really are no villains so much as characters who are varying levels of dick at any given moment. I was around in the Shipping Wars of '02; I don't want to pis anyone off by degrading their favorite character. And France and Russia are among my favorite characters. When I was writing the first draft, Russia actually was my favorite character (I've grown more on England since). So I didn't single them out just because I think they are the most villainous. Despite that, I had way too much fun writing them as villains. I don't think I really changed any of Humperdink's dialogue to fit Francis.
> 
> On a similar note, I had too much fun translating dialogue. I'm sure I've made errors since I'm not a speaker of either Italian or Spanish, but I find it weird that, in both Hetalia and the Princess Bride, we have plenty of characters of varying nationalities that never speak their native languages. I didn't want to include a translation section, because a) laziness and b) it's mostly swear words anyway, but let me know sometime soon if you want them and I'll make some edits.


	7. Chapter 6: A Miracle

“What do you mean dead?! Not like…dead dead!?”

England glanced up at the Colony, but it hurt too much to see such heartbroken eyes. “America…”

Said Colony rolled away from him and pulled the covers over his head. England could just barely make out him saying “’s not fair.”

“Well, whoever said life would be fair?” England snapped the book shut.

“’s fairer than dying.”

England sighed. “Maybe.” Still, America didn’t stir. “Come on now. Don’t you want to finish the story?”

“It ended. He’s dead.”

England quickly took a look at the book again. Lightly, as to not make it too obvious what he was doing, he skimmed through it and found his place again. “About twenty more.”

Golden hair poked out of the sheets. England took this as a cue to continue. “Thirty more pages. The author wouldn’t kill off the main character with twenty more pages, now would he?”

Slowly, America’s head poked out of the bed. “Okay. Keep going.”

* * *

 

Antonio knocked.

They waited.

No one arrived at the door.

Lovino knocked.

It was much more of a pound, but call it what you will.

This time a small window in the door slid open. “What is it, aru!?”

“Are you the Miracle Man the King fired all those years ago?” Antonio asked.

“Yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Miracle Yao said. The window closed.

Antonio hummed in thought. “That could have gone better. Lovi, knock again please.”

Lovino was one pound away from knocking the door down when the window opened again. “I’m retired, aru! Now go away before I call the Brute Squad!”

“I’m on the Brute Squad.” Lovino said.

Yao managed to get a good look at him. “You are the Brute Squad. And I’m not doing any miracles. I’ll just kill whoever it is you want a miracle for.”

“But he’s already dead.” Antonio pointed out.

“He is, aru?” Yao seemed to think about this. The window closed, and the door opened. “Alright, I’ll take a look, but I’m not promising any miracles.”

A table was quickly cleared off and Ludwig placed on it. The two took to the sidelines and watched Miracle Yao as he went about his work. Ludwig’s pulse was taken. His breath examined. His arms and legs poked at. “Well, he’s dead.”

“Good. _That_ _bastardo_ could have told you that.” Lovino jabbed a finger at Antonio.

“But it’s not the worst case I’ve seen, aru. Open his mouth for me?”

Lovino complied, not even thinking about it until Yao had put a large pump in it. “Now then,” He spoke between pumps. “What you have here, is mostly dead, aru. There’s a difference. Mostly dead is still slightly alive, aru. If he were all dead, well, I wouldn’t be able to help much, aru. So what did you need him fore, aru? He owed you money or something?”

“He will help me avenge my father’s death.” Antonio said.

“Hm. How much are you willing to pay for a resurrection, then?” Truth be told, Yao liked resurrections. It had been his second job at the castle to resurrect soldiers, and he always liked to see the looks on their faces when they woke up. Business, however, was business.

“I’ve got 50 left.” Lovnio said. He held up a small sack to prove his point.

“I’ve got a tomato!” Antonio offered.

Yao sighed. “I’ve never worked for so low. Well, once, aru, but that was a very noble cause.”

“Is revenge not a noble cause?”

“Sometimes, aru. The person who receives the revenge would probably feel different, though.” The pump was removed, and Yao leaned down to Ludwig’s level. “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME, ARU!? I NEED TO KNOW: WHAT’S SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU’RE HERE FOR!?”

It was barely loud enough to be heard. It was barely intelligible enough to be understood. Those in the room, however, could understand him perfectly. “True…love…”

“True love!” Antonio repeated. “There! Can you work for no better cause!?”

“Well, it is a very noble cause, aru…” Yao sighed. “But that’s not what he said! He clearly said ‘to bluff’! He owes you money, and you want me to resurrect him for that, aru!”

“YOU’RE LYING!” A yellow projectile shot through the room, just narrowly missing Yao.

“Get back you witch!” yelped the Miracle Man.

Another projectile was flung, this time succeeded in hitting him. “I’m not a witch, I’m your wife!” said Kiku Wang née Honda as he stormed into the room. “But I’m not even sure if I want to be that anymore!”

The only real explanation Yao offered was a slightly apologetic, mostly embarrassed smile in the two’s direction. It didn’t last very long as Kiku slapped him with a yellow paper fan. “True love, Yao! True Love is expiring right now, and you’re too worried about being paid to do anything about it!” Another smack, and Kiku turned to the two. “I’m really sorry about this. He’s been in such a sour mood since Prince Francis fired him, but I’d never think—”

In the time Kiku talked, Yao had managed to grab a wok and ladle and now held them up. “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NEVER TO SAY THAT NAME IN THIS HOUSE, ARU!?”

“Oh?” Kiku grabbed one of the long swords that hung from the wall. _“Prince. Francis.”_

And then all hell broke loose as the two sparred.

“So this was your bright idea?” Lovino asked.

Antonio didn’t replied. His full attention was on the scene in front of him. “You’d think a miracle man would be better in a fight.”

The couple collided with the table, causing Ludwig to jolt. Lovino decided to speak up. “YOU RESURRECT HIM, AND HE’LL GET REVENGE ON THE PRINCE BASTARD!”

Instantly, the two stopped.

“Really?” asked Kiku.

“Really?” asked Yao.

“His true love in Princess Feliciano. Resurrect him, he’ll go for his true love, and humiliations galore.” Antonio explained.

The two got to their feet. “That is tempting, aru…fine. I’ll take it for 40, but you two are going to need to get me supplies.”

Kiku smiled softly and went to go make tea.

* * *

 

It was one hour before the wedding when the Miracle Pill was made.

It was fifty-five minutes before it was given to them. “The chocolate makes it go down easier.” Kiku, who had explained while he carefully covered the pill in five layers of chocolate.

“Now, it needs at least fifteen minutes before it takes effect.” Yao explained. “After that, you have about…an hour?”

“An hour.” His wife affirmed. Before he had married Yao, he had been an actual nurse to the soldiers, so he knew more about the healing process.

“An hour to get you revenge and get out before he starts breaking down again, aru. He’ll live, but it’ll be some time before he gets back to full strength. A few months, maybe more. This was really a horrible death, aru.”

“Thank you. For everything.” Antonio was smiling. It wasn’t the stupid, drunken one he usually had to offer. It was twenty years, and his father would finally be avenged.

“And thanks for the Holocaust Cloak.” Lovino added as he pulled Ludwig onto his shoulder. “Now if this _bastardo_ ’s ready, we’re off to storm the castle.”

“Have fun!” The door closed.

The couple stuck their heads out the window and watched the three go off, until they were just dots in the distance.

“Think they’ll make it?” Kiku asked.

“It’ll take a miracle.”

* * *

 

40 minutes until the wedding, and Lovino and Antonio were sneaking around the castle walls.

“There’s probably sixty men out there…” Lovino sighed. “Even if we split up, that’s too much for me in a fair fight.”

“Don’t worry. We have him.” Antonio gestured to the corpse hanging off of Lovino’s shoulders. “It’s been about fifteen minutes, go ahead and give him the pill.”

It was a big difficult to get Ludwig to sit upright against the wall. It was even harder to pry open his mouth and pop in the pill. Kiku, however, seemed to be right when he said that the chocolate made it go down easier, since that was the easiest part.

Lovino leaned back, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and the dead man. “So when you do you think it’ll take effect?”

Blue eyes snapped open. “I’LL TAKE YOU BOTH ON! I’LL RIP YOU APAR—” Lovino’s hand flew to his mouth before he could say anything else.

“I’d suggest you be quiet. We are trying to hide, you know.” Antonio said.

When it looked like Ludwig had calmed down, the hand was removed. “You’re the Spaniard. And you’re the Italian. Where’s Feliciano? Why can’t I move?”

“You’ve been dead all day.” Antonio said.

“I’ll explain.” Lovino spoke up. He paused, however, as he began to realize what he was saying. “...That’s too long. I’ll catch you up. Your princess is about to get married in fourty minutes to that Prince bastard. We’re going to storm in, break it up, and you two can live happily ever after.”

“Your eyebrows are moving!” Antonio exclaimed. “That’s good!”

“I’ve always been a quick healer. How do we get in?”

“That we don’t know. There are at least sixty guards in the entrance only.”

“What do we have on hand?”

“Your brains, my strength, his sword.”

“That’s all?!”

“And your head’s moving!”

Ludwig’s head bobbed erratically, finally settling on glaring at Antonio. “My love is getting married in forty minutes, the castle is heavily guarded and we have no supplies, and you want me to be happy that my head moves?”

“Yes?”

Ludwig sighed. Then he realized who he was talking to. “By the way, I think I found the man who killed your father. Count Ivan.”

Considering that Antonio had been looking for the man for twenty years, he took the news rather well.

* * *

 

30 minutes until the wedding, Antonio regained his consciousness. “I’LL TAKE HIM ON! I’LL RIP HIM APART!”

“Well, we’ll have to get in the castle for you to do that, _idiota_!” Lovino snapped.

“I still can’t think of anything. We’d need supplies. Even a _wheelbarrow_ would be something.”

Antonio thought. “It’d take a few minutes, but I’m sure we can go back and find the wheelbarrow the nice woman had.”

“Well why didn’t you say that before!?” Ludwig nearly shouted. A hand found its way to his mouth.

“Alright, a wheelbarrow. What else?” Lovino snapped.

Ludwig glanced over him. “Is that a holocaust cloak?” He asked. The black cloak flew over his face. “Alright, we might just have a chance here…but one of you still needs to carry me.”

* * *

 

The castle chapel was full with pew upon pew of royalty and nobility. Dozens of candles were lit to keep the room illuminated in a source other than the sunset. The organ was finishing the entrance of the bride piece, and Feliciano and Francis were kneeling for the blessing.

Still, Feliciano hoped. No, hope wasn’t the right word for it. Hope had a bit of uncertainty to it.

Feliciano _knew_ that Ludwig would save him before the end of the wedding. He had always saved him. Feliciano just had to wait.

Bishop Bewarld Oxenstinera gestured for them to rise. “M’rriage. M’rriage ‘s what br’ngs us h’r’ t’day. Th’t dr’m ‘thin a dr’m…”

“STAND YOUR GROUND, MEN!” Felicks’ voice bellowed from outside. It was hardly intelligible to the crowd, but Feliciano heard it perfectly.

Ludwig _will_ save him. Here he comes now.

* * *

 

To the guards, it was a phantom. It faded in the night, and if it weren’t for the unmasked mouth, most wouldn’t have guessed it was human. It glided just above the ground, letting its long black cloak trail behind it, slowly but menacingly. Lights danced behind it.

In actuality, it was Lovino in a Holocaust Cloak and standing on a wheelbarrow, but it was good enough to put the guards in a mad panic.

“I AM THE DREAD PIRATE ROBERTS! THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS!” Lovino shouted.

“Now?” Antonio grunted from behind.

“Not yet.” Ludwig answered. It had been a dumb move to have such a grand display, and he was sure that if Gilbert ever found out about it he would chew his ear off (but not after laughing his ass off),  but they were low on options. It wasn’t as if Gilbert wouldn’t do the same if he were in his shoes. Actually, he might have done it before if he had thought of it first.

“I AM HERE. MY MEN ARE HERE. BUT SOON, YOU WON’T BE HERE.”

“Now?”

Ludwig fell. Parts of him were still waking up, and those parts weren’t his legs. “Light him!”

Antonio dropped the candle. The holocaust cloak erupted in flames.

“THE DREAD PIRATE ROBERTS IS HERE FOR YOUR SOULS!”

“WET YOURSELVES AND RUN!” Felicks didn't give the order, but he didn't blame whoever did.

* * *

 

That order was clearly heard by the church. A small discussion started in the pews. Francis gave a quick glance to the Count, which was enough for him to spring into action.

“Here comes my Ludwig now.” Feliciano whispered.

Francis smirked. “Your Ludwig is dead. I killed him myself.”

“Then why is there fear in your eyes?”

Francis held back a glare. “May we skip to the rings?” He asked aloud, politely but firm.

* * *

 

Lovino stamped out the remaining flames on the cloak. “You really should’ve lit me before.” He snapped. “Running out of good material.” Not to mention his throat was sore as hell, but that was already evident in his voice.

“Lovi, the portcullis!” Antonio tried to warn. Lovino didn’t turn his attention as he forced the closing portcullis open with a spare hand.

“Ah. So I’m not going to get out of this, am I?” Felciks asked.

“Depends. Do you have the gate key?” Ludwig asked, wrapping himself around Antonio’s waist.

“There isn’t a gate key.”

“Lovi, please tear his arms off.” Antonio chirped.

Lovino cracked his knuckles.

“Oh, you mean _this_ gate key! _Totally_ misunderstood you right there!”

* * *

 

“’n’ do yo, F’lic’no, t’le th’s m’n—”

“Man and wife!” Francis hissed. “Say ‘MAN AND WIFE’!”

Berwald blinked. “M’n ‘n’ w’fe.”

“Thank you!”

And the wedding was over. Feliciano tried to hide his shock.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note: Fun fact! I originally had Japan be female in this scene. I changed it in the last draft or so because there wasn't really any benefit to having him be female. It was either erase one of the only female characters in the Princess Bride or erase a queer couple in Hetalia (even though I don't really ship China/Japan; it was just convenient for the bit), and neither option was really good.
> 
> Another fun fact! In the original movie, Billy Crystal as Miracle Max slowed down production to a halt because everyone was laughing at his ad-libbing so much. The director left the set, Mandy Patinkin bruised a rib, Cary Ewles had to be replaced with a dummy for half the shots; it was a mess. When Inigo first challenged Westly to a duel, I knew this movie was awesome. When Billy Crystal came on and did his medieval comedy, I knew this was the greatest movie of all time.


	8. Chapter 7: The Pain

 

All was silent as Antonio and Lovino walked down the halls, Ludwig dragged between them. They had figured the wedding was still going on. It was still 12 minutes until it was suppose to end, anyway, so they had plenty of time.

“Alright.” Antonio whispered. “Do you think the priest has said it yet?”

“Said what?” Ludwig asked.

“The line! We have to wait for the priest to say ‘If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace’. And that’s when we’re supposed to barge in and you shout ‘I object!’”

“We’re not waiting for any damn line.” Lovnio grunted. “ _You’re_ going to save your love, _you’re_ going to avenge your father, and _I’m_ going to punch anyone that tries to get in our way.”

“But Lovi~! We have to do it that way! It’s traditional!”

“Last time I checked, kidnapping a to-be-queen and killing a Count isn’t exactly ‘proper business’.”

The sounds of new footsteps filled the hall. Neither of the capable bodied ones had a moment to react before a group of soldiers approached them.

“Kill the big one and the one in black, but leave him for questioning.” Count Ivan ordered coolly.

“That’s him.” Antonio spoke in nearly a whisper. He didn’t really need to confirm it, but it seemed to help anyway. Ludwig managed to nod, but it was lost on him.

The soldiers launched. It took only a few non-lethal but still very painful thrusts to take them down.

“Hello.” Antonio spoke. “My name is Antonio Fernandez Carrior, son of Domino Carrio. Ten years ago--”

Ivan sped off.

“Told you it was too long.” said Ludwig.

Antonio blinked for a second before speeding after him.

“I’ll give him this.” said Lovino as he attempted to pull Ludwig upright. “He certainly knows when he’s going to lose a fight.”

“Lovi!” Antonio hollered from another hall. “Lovi, I need you!”

“I can’t just let go of this bastard here!” Lovino responded.

“Lovi, HE'S GETTING AWAY!”

Lovino glanced down at Ludwig. By this point, most of his upperbody strength was back, but his legs were still failing him. “Go ahead.” Ludwig hissed. “I’ll wait.”

Lovino dropped him. “Don’t go running off now. You’re in no state to fight.” For extra measure, he wrapped his arms around a nearby display of armor. “I’ll be right back.”

He only needed to break a door down for Antonio. It took no more than him leaning on it, and before Antonio could say as much as thanks both of them were off.

And so was Ludwig.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

* * *

 

Ivan was certainly leading quite the chase. Through the castle they chased, down dozens of hallways and through dozens of doors. It was an attempt to slow him down, Antonio knew. An attempt that, at worst, would at least give Ivan a chance to prepare.

Antonio couldn’t care less. Any physical exhaustion he would suffer was gone in the euphoria of the fight. He cackled as he ran through another door.

He saw the Count as he took a knife off the table and tossed it at him. He saw the knife lodge itself in his stomach. He saw the blood begin to leak out. But he still didn’t feel it.

“I know you.” Ivan spoke. “You’re that Spanish kid I had to teach a lesson to year ago, yes? Have you been hunting me all those years? How sad. Since you’ve made it all the way here and failed.”

Antonio’s vision grew fuzzy, and his body began collapsing. He didn’t feel the knife piercing his skin, but he certainly knew that it was wrecking havoc on him. He wouldn’t be able to fight with a wound like this, he knew. He might not be even able to live. “I’m sorry Father. I failed.”

* * *

 

It was a very good knife. It was Francis’ personal favorite and he had sharpened it and sharpened it again during the preparations of the wedding as a method of stress relief.

Feliciano didn’t know any of this, though. He just knew it was a fairly sharp knife, and if he stabbed himself with it, he would probably die.

And that’s just what he was planning. He’d prefer to spend the rest of his life with his Farm Boy, with Ludwig, but if that wasn’t possible…

“You really shouldn’t damage such a perfect chest as yours. It’d be a pity.”

Feliciano spun. Ludwig lay comfortably on the Honeymoon Suite bed. No time was wasted as he jumped onto the bed and into his lover’s arms, showering him in kisses.

“Careful,” Ludwig hissed, but it went unnoticed. He couldn’t complain very much anyway. It was the best pain he had ever felt.

* * *

 

The knife clattered to the ground. Antonio began to stand, holding the nearby display of armor for support.

“You’re not still trying to win, are you?” Ivan asked. “That overdeveloped sense of justice will get you in trouble one day.”

Perhaps it would. Perhaps, one day, Antonio would be chasing someone down for money, like Yao had believed, and he would die meaninglessly.

But that was not today.

He grabbed the armor’s axe. “Hello. I am Antonio Fernandez Carrio. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The fight began. Ivan was a good swordfighter. One of the best in Florin, really. But it was nothing against a master, if not better, fighter with nothing to lose.

In the first minute of the duel, Antonio drew first blood.

In the second minute, Ivan was already covered in cuts and stabs wounds.

In the third, Ivan was pinned to the wall.

“Promise me anything!” Antonio yelled. He slashed the axe against Ivan’s left cheek.

Ivan nodded. In all his studies of pain, nothing could prepare him for fear.

“Money? Fame?” The axe slashed his right cheek.

“All that and more.”

The axe went straight for the heart.

_“I want my father back, you son of a BITCH!”_

* * *

 

It was around the time that Ludwig began to feel his right knee again when Feliciano came up and “Ve~”ed  nervously. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“What did you do this time?”

“I got married. I didn’t want do, but…”

“Did you say ‘I do’?”

“Well…no, but…”

“Then it never happened.”

Feliciano seemed satisfied with that answer and beamed at him.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Highness?”

“That will soon be rectified.” Said Francis from the doorway. He withdrew a sword. “To the death.”

“To the Pain.”

Francis flinched, and his sword drooped slightly. “I..don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

“Then I’ll explain. And I’ll use small words so you can follow along. First you’ll lose your ankles. Then your hands, at the wrists. And then your nose.”

“Well, I certainly killed you too soon last time.” Francis laughed.

“Then your right eye, followed by your left.”

“And then my ears, I suppose?”

“Your ears you keep, and I’ll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. So every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries ‘Dear God! What is that thing?’ will echo in your perfect ears. That it was To the Pain is: I leave you in anguish, to wallow in your freakish misery forever.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

“You’re bluffing.” Francis concluded.

“Perhaps. Perhaps the only reason I’m still in this bed is because I lack the strength to stand, let alone fight. Then again…”

Ludwig stood.

“Drop. Your. Sword.”

* * *

 

Antonio didn’t have much time to revel in his victory. He had just enough time to make sure that Ivan was dead, _all_ dead, and tend to some of his own wounds as much as possible when he remembered that Ludwig and Lovino would still need him.

The wedding was over now. Confused nobles and equally confused servants wandered the halls, all talking in hushed tones on how strange the wedding was. They didn’t even seem to see the armed and bloody Spaniard as he sneaked past them. Though Antonio hadn’t planned for where they would go after the wedding, it was rather easy to follow the yelps of pain to the Honeymoon Suite.

Francis was tied to the chair. Feliciano was adjusting the rope. Ludwig stood, and though it was hidden to the others, he was leaning against the bedpost.

Antonio didn’t really notice any of this. “Where’s Lovi?”

“I thought he was with you.” Ludwig responded with.

“I thought he was with you.” Antonio responded with.

Ludwig shook his head, though whether it was in exasperation or in answer Antonio couldn't tell. He stood a step forward.

Bad move. It was only thanks to his sword that he avoided falling.

Antonio gestured to Feliciano, who was watching the scene with wide, uncertain eyes. “Help him up.”

Feliciano didn’t need any other prompting. “”What’s wrong?”

“It’s probably been an hour now.” Antonio said. “You’ve lost your strength again.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Francis.

Antonio raised his axe. “Shall I take care of this for you?”

The fact that Francis flinched back as soon as the axe came in viewing distance wasn’t lost on him. Antonio made the mental note that this was a weapon worth keeping.

“No.” said Ludwig. The last of his arm’s strength was used in wrapping itself around Feliciano’s waist. “Whatever happens to him, I want him to live a long, painful life in his cowardice.”

A voice interrupted Antonio before he could argue. It sounded soft, though only because it had to travel through the window. When Antonio went to open it, it became very clear what it was. “Hey _bastardo_!”

Outside stood Lovino. With him were four of the Princes’ best horses, all saddled up and ready to go. “There you are! When you two fucking _ditched_ me, I decided I might was well work on an escape plan. There’s a horse for all of us if you find the Princess. Uh…Queen, I suppose.”

Feliciano went out first. He didn’t need much convincing after he was sure that, yes, his former kidnappers were now on his side, and when Ludwig was able to find another source to lean on.  It was a short jump, certainly, and Lovino easily caught him.

It was as Antonio was about to jump when he realized everything that had just happened. “You know, I’ve spent so much time in the revenge department, I’m not sure what I should do now.”

“Have you ever considered piracy?” Ludwig asked. “I’m not going to be needing my ship anymore, and you’d make a fantastic Dread Pirate Germania.” Before Antonio could ask much more, he jumped.

His fall was less graceful, certainly, and not helping was the fact that he had lost most of his strength now. But Lovino caught him all the same.

Antonio followed. Lovino caught him, but dropped him as soon as most of his momentum was lost.

They rode to freedom. As dawn rose, they knew they were safe.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five rated the most passionate, the most pure. The one Feliciano and Ludwig shared that sunrise blew them all out of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMITTING ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE BECAUSE IT WAS ABOUT SCHEDULING


	9. Epilogue

 “The end.” England announced. It didn’t matter anyway, since the only person who was listening was fast asleep. England let out a sigh, not quite sure himself if it was relief that he was asleep or whether the sight was getting to him. Carefully, to not wake him up, he gathered his supplies-the book, his jacket, and half a bowl of chicken soup- and turned to leave.

“England?” A soft voice asked. America’s head was just poking out from the covers. “Do you think…maybe…you could come back and read it to me tomorrow?”

England bit back a blush. “As you wish.” Was all he responded with.

* * *

 

He only noticed the letter the next week, when he was putting the book back on the shelf.

He spend some time studying it, wondering whether he should open it or not. There weren’t any marks on it, save for the Florin wax seal. It was probably over 100 years old anyway; whoever it was for wouldn’t be missing it, and he couldn’t exactly reply to it either. He only opened it when it became apparent that he wouldn’t get any work done with it sitting on his desk like that.

_England,_

_So by now it’s probably been a couple years, if not decades, since I gave you this and you decided to read it again. By now, I’m probably long gone. Don’t worry about me; I know my time’s been coming since the last century. The only things I have left are a good cup of coffee, and this book. All I want from you is to remember me. And The Princess Bride. I’m not saying you should have grand celebrations in the streets like my people used to do, just make sure that something this good isn’t forgotten too fast._

_-Florin_

England read it. And reread it. And read it again. And then he picked up _The Princess Bride_ again.

It’s not like these papers won’t be there tomorrow.

* * *

 

_September 30, 2012. 12:28 AM_

_Joe’s Diner; America_

It wasn’t a very notable diner. It was just a stop on the road, with the “o” and “n” on the neon sign flickering out and just closing for the night. The only reason it was of any note at the moment was because of the patrons inside.

There were two of them, one boy and one girl. To all outsiders, they were just teens having fun. The girl, with a golden mess of hair and light eyes, was working contently on her fifth cup of coffee but her pie remained untouched. The boy, with matching dark hair and dark eyes was working on his fifth slice of pie but his coffee remained untouched.

“So did you ever keep those chapters?” The anthropomorphic personification of Guilder asked his companion.

“Of course I did!” Florin fetched a packet of papers from her satchel as if to prove her point. “Does it matter anyway? That’s not the point of the story!”

“It is too. The book was supposed to be a satire on your government, wasn’t it?” Guilder responded.

Florin paused to sip her coffee and roll her eyes. “Maybe that’s the point of the book. But it was the point of the _story_.  The book might be a satire, but the story is a tale of true love and high adventure.”

Guilder rolled his eyes. “Says you.”

The +300 year old Nation responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

Their attention was diverted when the bell for the front door rang. “Oh hey Rome!” Florin greeted. “What took you so long? Your coffee’s getting cold!”

* * *

 

_September 12, 2012. 3:38 PM_

_America’s house; America_

America sneezed. It wasn’t a small, polite sneeze; rather a sneeze that shook the doors and rattled the windows. The Nation groaned as he reached for a tissue. Stupid sequester, stupid budget cuts, stupid Congress…

He sneezed again, missing the knock on the door. He didn’t even notice that someone had come in until a box of Kleenex was all but shoved in his face. He traced the arm back up to its owner. He was turned away from him, but the black moss growth he called eyebrows that were knitted together in frustration were unmistakable. “You really should get your government in line, you know.” England said grumpily.

America accepted the tissue. “Why, do you care about me?”

“O-of course not! But if your economy goes, we all do!” The British Nation managed to sputter, but all the same America saw a blush creeping on his cheeks.

America collapsed back on the bed.

In response, the tissue box was replaced with a loosely bound, golden and faded stack of papers. “I thought you might want to occupy yourself.” England said as an explanation.

America hummed to himself as he studied it. Did the sentimental old man really still have this around? He couldn’t even remember when the older Nation had read it to him…but he wanted to hear it again. He knew that much. “Only it you read it to me.” England’s eyes widened, and America was sure that he would be yelling if America didn’t beat him to it. “Hey, I’m sick. I might get all my gross sequester germs on it.”

That managed to get the once proud British Empire to deflate in defeat. “Alright, fine.”  He pulled up a chair, made himself as comfortable as possible, and opened up the manuscript. “ _The Princess Bride._ By S. Morgenstern. ‘Chapter one…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Author's Note EDITED: Well, that's about the end of it. I have had this story on me for nearly four years now. If you've stayed with me up until the end, thank you. I still have some plans within the Hetalia fandom, including more fusions such as this. But that will be in due time (I repeat: I have had this story on me for nearly four years). In the meantime, I'm going to celebrate. I might even pop on my favorite movie.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Author's Note (14 Feb 2016):
> 
> This started off as something of a present to myself. My favorite movie of all time is the Princess Bride. It has influenced so much of my writing and how I think of stories in general. Hetalia, on the other hand, is my go-to fandom to headcanon. Though it doesn't do much with it, Hetalia could easily be a series full of big stories, great worldbuilding, and perfect set-ups for character interaction. I didn't really think much of this series as I was writing it, but now it's become something really special to me.


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